


About A Bond

by karmascars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Breathplay, Dean is briefly 14 in this episode, Episode: s10e12 About A Boy, Established Relationship, Impala Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, and that is when this takes place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10118339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmascars/pseuds/karmascars
Summary: Set during 10x12,About A Boy. Sam counters Dean’s suggestion (that he stay 14 to avoid the Mark) with a far-fetched one of his own.





	

Now Dean is the one staring across the expanse of the Impala’s front seat—a wider distance than it’s ever been—at Sam, who grips the wheel with white knuckles.

“Are you kidding?”

“Why would I joke about this, Dean?” Sam snaps. “I’m not exactly in my element, here. Got no clue.”

“Well _I_ got no fucking clue either, but you don’t hear me suggestin’ shit like a fucking _soul bond_ —”

“But if we do it before you change back, it might prevent the resurgence of the Mark! Or does that not matter as much when it’s your soul on the line?” Sam scoffs. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. If you gave a shit about your soul, you wouldn’t even be in this mess.”

Dean gapes.

“Admit it, if you cared _at all_ , you would have thought twice about a lot of things.” Sam’s expression darkens. He glances away. “Like selling it for me in the first place.”

“ _Sam_ ,” gets gut-punched out of Dean, low and disbelieving.

“What?” Sam takes an easy turn way too fast, laughing, a Lana del Rey video—which Dean will forever deny even _knowing_ about—in streaks of rain and plaid and _home_ , with its stupid floppy hair and even stupider assumptions. “I’m not wrong.”

“Okay, setting  _that_ whole clusterfuck aside," Dean says, sounding pinched, batting away the memory of grown-up Nina walking away. _Charlie Foxtrot._ "What about _your_ soul?”

“What about it?” This next look Sam casts him, beneath furrowed brows, is bleak. “It’s not in much better shape. Hell, the bond might actually help us.”

“I thought that was the point.”

“I meant—some of the lore says soul bonds have a tendency to heal both, uh, participants.”

“It also doesn’t say _how_.” Dean shifts in his seat, glaring down at his lap. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’s got no control down there. _‘It’s up, it’s down, it’s up for no reason'_ doesn’t begin to cover it.

He’s trying to have a Serious Discussion right now, but all his dick notices is that _Sam_ is in _the car_ , and the last time Sammy was in the car at night in the rain, Sammy came so hard Dean almost choked on it.

Dean licks his lips, a sense memory of Sam’s cock between them. How salty-sweet he tasted…

“Dean?”

Startling, Dean glances over. Sam’s eyes are dilating as they regard one another, relying on periphery to keep them on the road.

“Yeah?” Dean's voice cracks. “Jesus—”

Sam jerks the wheel, the tires losing traction and skidding over onto the shoulder. There’s a brief rumble of graded asphalt, then mud and grass and the transmission protesting when Sam throws her into park too fast.

“Sammy—”

When he fumbles his belt apart and lunges across the seat, Dean meets him halfway.

Stubble burns in the best way on fine-milled, newly-teenage skin. Dean moans into his brother’s kiss, same as it tasted hours ago but new, different, _better_. Sam is so large, so solid in his arms, which don't reach nearly far enough around anymore. His dick pulses in his jeans, uncontrollable. He might come from this alone.

“ _Sam,_ ” he gasps, urgent, face pressed alongside Sam’s—one huge palm finds him and strokes.

It’s the best thing he’s ever felt, and he’s had Sam in every way possible.

Whining, he jerks his hips up, trying to get closer, trying to get more of Sam covering him, kneading him, coaxing heat from his core. Sam hauls him closer—they shift, scrambling—He winds up splayed over Sam’s lap, both of them writhing, seeking the friction they know they can find.

They find it.

Dean cries out, tossing his head back, vision whiting out the ceiling he would have smacked into on any other day. He’s grabbing at Sam’s shoulders, his hair, cradling the back of Sam’s head as Sam’s teeth nip at his chest through his shirt. Hips rocking, swivel-dip, dick throbbing for release.

“Dean,” Sam moans, finding his jawline with lips and teeth, scraping at the skin.

One bright spark is all it takes.

“Ss—!” Dean locks up, groaning through the orgasm that took way too little stimulation to achieve. “ _Saaam_ ,” he yowls. Grown-up him is embarrassed. But teenage him already wants to go again.

Which is good, because Sam is close, but he ain’t there yet.

“Scoot back,” Dean pants, still trembling, his pants a sticky mess. He shoves at Sam’s shoulders. “Back, Gigantor. Gimme some room.”

He grins down at the tent Sam’s pitching, ignoring his brother’s blustering. He wants to see how it looks in his now-smaller hand. Grabbing, stroking, he somehow ignores the delicious noise that rips its way out of Sam’s throat.

“Look at this monster!” Oh man, he wants it in his mouth—no idea if it’ll fit. Doesn’t care. Sam’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

He’s already working at the stiff zipper.

One of Sam’s enormous hands catches his. “Don’t—” Christ, but Sam sounds so _hot_ when he’s halfway to wrecked. “Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Oh, now you’re worried?” Dean grins up at his brother. He’s fishing Sam out of his fly. “I told you, I got this.”

“When’d you— _nnngh!_ ”

Dean pulls back off briefly to both savor the taste and quip, “It’s a blanket promise, dude. If I say it once, just assume I always mean it.”

Then he sucks the tip back between his lips and suckles on it, dipping his tongue through the slit for every bit of that flavor. It’s a much larger mouthful than he’s used to, smaller mouth and all, but it’s _Sam_ and Sam hasn’t changed.

Besides, Dean loves doing this.

He plunges down as far as he can go, forcing his throat open, holding his breath til he pulls back up. Sam’s trying not to put his hands in his hair—Dean hopes it’s not because this is too weird, because sure, it’s weird, but—okay, so Sam would get arrested if they’re caught. But they’re not gonna get caught.

Dean is gonna finish his brother in record time.

Spreading his legs as far as he can on the seat, one sneaker planted on the door, the other on the dash, Dean bows his back, knowing he makes a damn pretty picture despite puberty and the weird mustard-colored hoodie. He’s rewarded when Sam’s hands both dig into his hair, Sam’s hips undulating with the rhythm Dean sets.

He can hear Sam muttering, moaning his name over and over, but it gets lost in the pound of the rain and Dean’s own heartbeat in his ears. He’s straining his lungs, too excited for the measured breaths this takes, loving the taste and feel of Sam’s cock pushing deeper into his throat with every stroke.

In fact, he’s pretty sure that’s his unnamed choking kink rearing its head there—he doesn’t mind that he can’t get a breath. His cock is filling faster every moment he can’t.

Then one of Sam’s hands wanders down. Finds his jugular.

Strokes a little higher and presses in.

He can probably feel himself, Dean thinks, dizzy with pleasure. _Can you, Sam? Can you feel your cock filling me up?_

_Fuck, give it to me._

Sucking hard, he inches deeper, deeper—if he can get Sam to lose control, maybe—

He feels it when Sam’s body locks up, when Sam falls back against the seat, hands still grappling at Dean, cock swelling so hard it blocks Dean’s airway completely and plugs up his throat in the most beautiful way.

Seeing spots, Dean works around it, taking it. All he wants is to take it.

_Give it to me._

It’s getting hard to focus on anything other than the mounting pleasure, strung between Sam’s cock and Dean’s, rubbing through the mess in his pants. He’s in a singularity between the two, working himself like a whip, any bit of friction and touch he can find before he loses his grip.

At the exact moment Dean starts to black out in earnest, Sam comes.

The gush of Sam’s come down his throat tricks his body; on instinct, Dean sucks in a breath, and gets nothing but fluid. A wracking cough seizes him. There’s no air.

Oh, god, there’s no air—Eyes rolling back, Dean comes like a freight train barreling into the side of a cliff, coughing, still unable to draw a breath as he shakes. He's zeroed out.

Nothing left.

Flying.

“Dean? Dean!”

Sam’s shaking him. Dazed, Dean blinks up at his brother hovering over him, Sam's softening cock hanging out the vee of his jeans.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sam demands. “You could have suffocated! See, this is the exact shit I didn’t want—”

“It’s all good, Sammy,” Dean slurs. Struggling to sit up for a moment, he gives up almost immediately and sags against the seat. His whole body is humming with residual pleasure. He feels _awesome_.

“No, it’s not all good, it’s fucking terrible, Dean,” Sam runs a hand through his hair. “I could have killed you.”

“Nahhh.” Dean laughs at how drunk he sounds, then has to laugh again, because that was a drunk-ass laugh. “I’m not that easy to kill.”

“We have to get moving.” Clearly upset, Sam moves back behind the wheel and shifts into drive, seatbelt still off, dick still out.

“Sam.”

“We have to fix this.”

“ _Sam._ ”

“What?” Sam whips his head around to look at Dean, stricken, that hurt-puppy look marring the glow Dean loves to see on him.

“I—” Dean struggles to sit up straight. “I wanna try the thing.”

Sam has discovered he’s still undone. “The thing?” he asks, distracted. “Oh! The— Really?”

“Yeah. If it works, then we’ll be home free.”

“That’s what _I’m_ saying. And I’ve got the amulets right—” Sam leans over, pops open the glove box. A bright light washes out. “—here?”

Dean stares. Hell, he’s sure they’re both staring, despite the amulets searing outlines onto their retinas.

“The car,” he says, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t think it worked like that,” Sam mutters.

“Well, apparently—”

They both take one, the glow fading as soon as they’ve picked them up. Dean turns his over, studying it, but it just looks like an ordinary bronze amulet, much like the one he used to wear for years. This one resembles an obol, the Greek coin used to pay passage to the Underworld. Its markings are unfamiliar.

He clasps it tight, eyes tracing the line of Baby's dash. “If a car ever had a soul,” he says finally, glancing over, “bet you money it'd be her.”

“Damn right.” Sam is hanging his around his neck.

Swallowing, smiling a tiny private smile at the soreness in his throat, Dean does the same.

“Let’s go kill some witches?” he says.

Sam grins at him, bright and beautiful, and eases down on the gas.

**Author's Note:**

> I was re-watching the episode and didn't even make it all the way through before I had to stop and write this. Let me know what you think. ;)


End file.
